Voter Apathy: An Inconvenient Truth

The official statistics showing the level of voter apathy amongst the South African youth in the upcoming elections should be a major concern in terms of stifling potential political change.  More alarming however is the apparent lack of understanding of how democracy can work for one. 

Perhaps it has suited some political parties, strategically, to keep the potential voters from understanding this powerful tool out of deserved fear.  What is of particular concern is the fact that so many of the youth (18 years+) having become disenchanted by the ANC’s rather dismal record, greed, corruption, cronyism, poor management, misspending and lack of delivery against promises made, and yet still don’t feel that there is an alternative to vote for to affect appropriate change.   Either that or the other major parties haven’t done a particularly good job in marketing themselves effectively to the most important market of all, ‘the future’.  This is a very sad indictment in so far as our future political landscape is concerned, tantamount to short-term accounting and a massive opportunity should any particular party set their eyes and ears firmly on the future. 

The Malemas of this world may be somewhat delusional, but they have a very strong point in recognising the plight of the youth of this country, particularly under the current financial crisis, fuelled by the ANC’s fraught education system debacle.  There is an undercurrent of an angry youth worldwide (note those behind the burgeoning Arab Spring around the world), and we must not be complacent in our belief that this is not a bubbling issue for our own beloved country.

So, here’s hoping that our good and honest politicians (note the oxymoron), take heed and address the real concerns of our disenfranchised youth before it all ends in tears.

The Philosophy of Life Summed Up in Minutes

On visiting the magnificent (and magnificently poor and rather run down - in parts) Eastern Cape recently, I was encouraged by my oldest son to take him through to Grahamstown for the day.  No he didn't want to visit the Albany Museum, nor take in a poetry lecture at Rhodes University; instead he wanted to visit about 5 'girl-friends' who happen to go to school there.  It’s a long story, but I'll leave that for him to write about one day.  Being a generous dad-sort, I obliged, and thought that the drive alone would be good time spent together catching up on things one doesn't often get the opportunity to share with a teenage son in this hectic lifestyle we appear to have been sucked into.

Fortunately for me at least, one of the girl’s dad’s, Justin, hearing of my pending visit to his farm’s nearby town, arranged to meet me for a drink at the infamous Albany Club.  Now The Albany Club, for those who don't know, is the old ‘gentlemen’s’ club of old, steeped in tradition, wooden panelling, historical pictures wall-to-wall and old taxidermied animal heads.  Heads of beasts that once roamed the area in their wild habitat, now peering through glassy eyed stares at the thousands of events and boozy buggers who have propped up the bar counter over the centuries.  It is a place that only relatively recently has allowed Jews, women and non-white folk to enter the front door, let alone become members (although few seem to have taken up the opportunity it seems despite Xhosa being a prominent language amongst the local white farmers who frequent the place).

An incredible place, The Albany Club, in that despite being a Jo’burg born and bred, and Cape Town based for a decade and a half, I knew virtually every person in that bar that day.  It was wonderful, and only something that can happen in a small-town place like Grahamstown.  The familiarity of everyone is intriguing, and yet despite nuances of ‘vibes’ both good and not so good being evident between them, there was a general courtesy and banter even amongst the biggest rivals.  I say ‘rivals’ purely because the one bloke had stolen the other bloke's girlfriend from him at the age of 14 at Peps Palace in Kenton-on-Sea back in 1980, and the other had never forgiven the bugger.  The latter term of which I don’t mean literally, of course. 

Whilst ‘kuiering’ (visiting and indulging) with these fine lads, a big brawly farmer, whom I hadn't seen in years, came up to greet me, and flattered me like only a brawly farmer with hands rough and the size of wickey gloves can do to a city slicker like me.  He said, “-ell Greg..”, with rolled accent on the ‘r’ you understand, this is the Eastern Cape afterall, “..I see you’re quite the philosopher ol’ chap..”.  To my surprise, not only to his complimentary meaning of ‘philosopher’ being attributed to me, but the fact that he is an avid Facebook reader it seems.  Reader is the operative word, in that I have never seen him write a damn thing in return, merely scanning the sites for updates on who’s doing whom and what around the world perhaps?  I know that there are many of my vintage who do the same.

Nevertheless, despite his flattering comments, I was recently sent a copy of an address made by an Aussie comic and graduate of the University of Western Australia (UWA), Tim Minchin, on receiving an Honorary Doctorate, which I thought summed up life rather well.  Philosophically speaking of course.  And so, rather than attempt to compete with such brilliance, thought I’d rather share it with all of you.  Enjoy.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc#t=714